


The Common Tongue

by alephthirteen



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: ABO is a recent development, Alex Danvers is Confused About this Whole Kara Thing, Alex is Looking for Someone a Bit More Sedate than Kara Anyway, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Astra and Kara Share a Deep Respect for Cat Grant, Cat Grant Being Too Amused to Stop Her, Comic Book Science, Everyone Is Gay, Everyone Needs A Hug, F/F, F/M, Half-Kryptonian Babies, Kara "Baby Daddy" Danvers, Kara Turning CatCo Into a Nest, Kara is Adorbs, Kara is Fake Married to Alex for Citizenship Papers, Kara is a Studmuffin, Lena Wants a Girl to Like Her, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Praise Kink, Size Kink, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Supergirl Provides Many Services to the Women of National City
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:53:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27884812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alephthirteen/pseuds/alephthirteen
Summary: Lena is convinced that for once, Lex isn't crazy.  She remembers the Paris Climate Accords.  She attended them, for God's sake.It just seems odd that five years after Exxon Mobil was buying senators by the bucketful, they didn't put up a fight when the zero-emissions bill was passed and senators voted based on polls about the bill, not campaign funds.It seems extraordinarily lucky that leaps and bounds in electric cars, zero-emission power plants and even prototype auto-piloting flying cars popped up right when gas hit $20 a gallon and when coal became a UN-banned pollutant.So she sets out hunting the impossible.  She sets out to prove that she isn't going crazy.  This entire world has been made up.  Altered, at the very least.  Someone broke civilization apart, rearranged the governments to their liking and welded it shut.    The problem is they did such a good job of making it look like our idea, it's not clear who did it.Her pet project can wait until tomorrow.  There's one CEO in her adopted city she hasn't introduced herself to.  Best for last.Cat Grant.
Relationships: Astra/Cat Grant, Kara Danvers/Lena Luthor, Samantha "Sam" Arias/Alex Danvers/Kelly Olsen
Comments: 11
Kudos: 112





	1. Choices

**Author's Note:**

> I really have no goddamned excuse for this. I wanted to inject an Kara with ABO elements into the normal Supergirl timeline but have her be as inhumanely attractive as she is strong, absolutely shameless about it, and miles past giving fucks what people think about it. So what if the local news stations put her post-rescue interviews on delay after the fourth time a rescued omega needed to be eaten out a few times to calm down? 
> 
> That's really humanity's fault for being so uptight about sex and cameras...
> 
> This is probably 75% a smut story, 10% a story about Kara letting male villains know hers is bigger and 15% a Kara being adorable and eating her weight in donuts story and known bottom, known softie Lena Luthor is really here for both of those things. The other 100% is going to be SuperCorp babies and that's a first for me to write. 
> 
> Looking forward to it.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Kara is miffed and judgy, Alex thinks it's a lot, Eliza could just smack Clark Kent, and the bonds of family are thicker than ecoterrorism.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All italicized dialogue is in standard Kryptonian except for one word, explained in dialogue.

Clark cannot believe Kara has been here two hours. For all she complained about -- and clearly suffers -- from her enhanced senses, she flies like she learned flying before she learned her first word. Eyes shut, her cape wrapped around her head to dull the noise and she manages, following every bank and turn and skimming the ground low, crossing government radar zones at high speed, sometimes before he can suggest it.

"We're here."

Her answer is in Kryptonian and her accent is smooth but sharp, like listening to someone play the flute. Sometimes he can't tell the words apart from that song she hummed to calm herself. That or he's simply not as good at the language as he thinks.

He places his hands on her shoulders to guide her. Landing blind is next to impossible. Doing it delicately, at least. If something knocks him out somewhere in Earth's gravity well, he always finds the ground eventually. It's landing in ways that don't bring thoughts of murder, castration and kneecappings to Lois's gray eyes that's hard.

_"This is the new house?"_

_"Yes, Kara."_

_"Tell me about their hɛlkæ."_

_"I do not know that last word."_

She huffs in anger and for a moment she is just a thirteen year old earth girl who hates grownups.

_"It means 'legend'. From my mother's language. Ajatakii. From the Ajaktar valley and the war queens. Your mother had two sisters in law, the family that raised her as a ward, that spoke that tongue. Hurtful that you never bothered to acquire it."_

_"Ah."_

_"You sound like a leaky conduit when you make that sound."_

_"It's a sort of confused way of saying 'I understand'," he explains. "Even if I might not understand fully."_

She hums and crouches down, gathering soil into her palms.

_"Do all humans speak in such baffling and messy ways, Clark of Kent, or only you?"_

_"What does legend mean, here?"_

Hopefully, stop calling him 'human' for a moment if he answers her. For most of his childhood, passing as human was the most important thing. Coming out of Kara's mouth, the word is distilled rejection and disappointment. It cuts like a knife.

_"Their story. What are these Danvers known for? What does their city know them for, celebrate them for? What about their guild?"_

_"We do not have guilds here, Kara."_

She shakes her head. That gesture, at least, she picked up quickly.

_"No? Then why do we pass so many broadcasts of loud males railing against groups of workers organized together and talking about this man they know, this Jesus? They must spend a great deal of time drinking with him, to be so familiar."_

_"You speak English."_

_"I had twenty-four years in the phantom zone with nothing to do, no flight controls and a working omnistone, Clark. All I could do was learn."_

_"They are scientists, both parents. Brilliant ones. They started knowing nothing about Earth biology and learned enough that doctors could help me when I was injured."_

_"The sunstone would have created a computer which had all that information, Clark. And surgical robots."_

_"My fortress is...ice."_

_"Built with stone knives?"_ She sneers.

_"The daughter is older than you. Fifteen earth years."_

_"Ah. So you bring me here because they have an unmarried daughter. So eager to be rid of me, Clark of Kent?"_

It catches him again, then. A powerful scent, clogging out all else around him. Lemon and strawberry. This time, it is shot through with the smell of sweet cream, like the ice cream shop in Smallville puts on their shaved ice. Everything about the smell makes him want to kneel. Soften. Let down his guard.

_"Is the daughter smart?"_

_"Perhaps more than her parents,"_ Clark grumbles.

Alex Danvers was going to be trouble for him even if she didn't have a Kryptonian kid sister. She's the dangerous sort of smart that can either turn into Jeremiah Danvers or Lex Luthor and he's not sure how to nudge her towards the former.

Kara's tight frown eases a bit.

_"I shall see her, and then I shall answer you about joining our houses."_

Batman talks about superheroing being like preaching, something you do even though it hurts because it's the moral thing to do.

Generally, Clark agrees but he's a reporter and there is simply no way he's paid enough for the next conversation he's going to have with Kara.

  
**-Eliza Danvers-**   
  


Eliza's not sure what to do. When Kara and Clark started jabbering at each other in Kryptonian, Alex ran upstairs without even clearing her empty plate off the table. Kara is safe down here and her baby is clearly angry or hurting. She wants to be upstairs but this child is hurting too. The hard line of Kara's jaw and the decadent, tumbling hair on her head don't fully hide the emptiness in her sizzling blue eyes. A shade that reminds Eliza of her chem labs. It's the haunting blue of Cesium-137 under dim light. Lovely enough to stare at for hours, even want to touch. Radioactive enough to burn out a tumor in minutes in the hands of a cancer clinic.

She can leave Kara with Jeremiah. He's always been better at what to say in a single moment to make her stop crying while she's been better at what to do for Alex in the long haul, plans and battering cruel teachers and sending the school principal up his office walls in his hurry to comply with Eliza's explanations of what is 'discipline' and what is bigotry against her daughter. If Kara is as fragile as a survivor like her should be, the way his parenting differs from her own might just save Kara's life. Eliza could counteract a poison or talk Kara out of a suicide attempt if she had the time to use logic and could do it by talking _about_ emotions. Jeremiah could talk _through emotions_ and make Kara not want to.

Alex is upstairs, jabbing her fingers into her phone.

"Texting Vicki, mom. Go away."

She settles down on the bed beside her.

"Alex, honey..."

"You need a replacement, I need somewhere to live. I am texting Vicki. Doing my part to clear the way for the improved model."

She should have sent Jeremiah up here. He would be able to say something that might crack through this shell of anger wrapped around her little girl's too-big, too-soft heart.

"Did you see how she looked at me, mom?"

Eliza sighs.

"Non-verbal communication isn't something you pick up quickly, honey."

"Well, I did. That was the same way she looked at the pot roast, mom. I was nothing but meat to her."

It was an intense stare Kara gave Alex, she can't deny that. Eliza saw something different, especially in the times Kara would tilt her head, smile and whisper something to Clark, who was playing along and pretending to reply. Fluency, her ass. She visited Beijing once in the late eighties and bought a phrasebook to get her from airport, to noodle shops to hotel. She probably speaks more Mandarin than Clark does Kryptonian. Using the dinner table metaphor, it really was much more like how Kara looked at the sweet potato chocolate pie and the way she dove into dessert was nearly deranged.

A frosty wind whips through the room. Alex is in Kara's arms, seemingly dragged off the bed. Static electricity dances all over her hair, and most surfaces in the room. One of Kara's arm is clamped around Alex's waist, keeping her close. Kara stares and leans closer. Alex shudders and her cheeks pink. Kara calls out something to Clark in Kryptonian.

Then she kisses Alex, hand curling around the back of her neck. Crushing her tiny body against Alex's.

Alex is panting and messy when Kara lets go. Kara's fingers comb Alex's auburn curls back and then she is gone.

"What...the...hell..." Alex finally gulps. "...was that?"

"CLARK JOSEPH KENT!" Eliza bellows.

He meets them downstairs. Kara is arguing with him, one finger against his breastbone and gradually shoving him along the rug. Certain phrases seem to come back over and over and over.

"What is she saying, Clark?"

He swallows a lump in his throat.

"She's saying she cannot live here."

"Why not? She'd be welcome."

It is Kara who answers.

"Because I am led to believe that in your culture, betrothed couples do not live together until sexually mature and in most cases, not until they are married. I will join your house, Eliza of Danvers. But not today. Not this way. And I cannot join your household. Not as you understand it. I will not shatter Alex's family or bring shame to her just to satisfy my oath."

She drops her gaze.

"Nor my urges. These are uncomfortable, Clark! How do you manage?"

"What are?" Clark asks.

Eliza doesn't need to speak Kryptonian to understand what Kara meant. She had been crossing her legs, her grip on the couch white knuckled and her breath heaving in and out in great gulps. She wonders if puberty was not taught about on Krypton in a post-sexual culture of workaholics, or if the yellow sun just makes it worse.

"Kara, can I ask you a que-"

The front door bangs shut as it falls back on its spring, startling her out of the middle of her sentence.

She's gone. Seems even Clark didn't pick up on her leaving. 

For some reason, the house practically reeks of lemons. Like someone dumped a bushel of them out and started up the juicer.

**-Lena-**

It all happens so fast.

Lionel dies, not that that was so unexpected. His drinking had been getting worse. Falling to his death down all of four stairs at the office was unexpected, but the fact that he was drunk enough to risk death by alcohol poisoning just meant it was a weekday.

Lex hits her for the first time, chasing her out of their father's study in a manic, rabid state and telling her to get ready for the funeral.

Lena's soulmate mark appears almost instantly, carved into her flesh by extreme heat. She bites her wrist to stifle the pain as the minister drones on.

The coldness she had always felt around Lillian veers sharply into the realm of cruelty. She stops speaking. At all. When something needs to be communicated, it passes through maids or butlers. So she draws herself up. Does more extracurriculars when she is at 4.0 GPA on the maximum class load. She becomes better than better than perfect, hoping to win back the harmless, easy sort of silence they used to have. Not this watching, glancing, teeth-gritting silence over dinner. Like the next time Lillian actually speaks, it will be to tell Mercy Graves to kill Lena.

Unacceptable. Lena has worked too hard for a place in this household.

So she watches. Counts the liquor bottles. Makes notes of the staff.

Finally, she catches Lillian upstairs in Lionel's study. Weeping into a tumbler of Macallan '18 and running her fingers along one of his old accounting ledgers.

The hiss when Lena sat down was expected. Risks had to be taken.

"We both loved him, _mother_ ," Lena sighs. It's probably the first time she's used the word since she was taken from the orphanage. Lillian's hand clenches into a fist, which Lena covers with her own hand.

"Can we share that, at least? Lionel's memory is something we have in common. Something good."

The answer, like everything else lately, is nonverbal.

Lillian's body goes limp and she wails.

Lena holds her.

The silences go back to being tolerable, then easy. Then, eventually, words are exchanged once more.

Lillian will never love her the way she loves Lex.

Perhaps that's for the best. After being shut out of the family money and being ordered to not speak to the servants, Lena can do her own laundry.

**-Alex-**

There's weird, there's _almost_ ending up with an alien kid sister and then there's whatever the hell just happened.

"Uh," Alex teases, ducking her head to try to get his attention. "It's customary to at least tell the girl no if you don't want to go to prom."

Rather than answering, he takes off at a sprint.

"Wait, Rick!"

He's already run shoulder-first into the emergency exit.

Vicki leans up against Rick's locker.

"Sorry, buddy."

"Apparently, I'm boy poison."

"Seems like."

"Gee, thanks."

"Best friend rights. I get to insult you. What smells so good, anyway?"

Alex scoffs.

"Well, we know it can't be the cafeteria."

**-Kara-**

Six soldiers gather to either side of her before her feet touch the outer hull of Fort Rozz.

 _"My dear niece,"_ Astra purrs. _"Come to join our cause?"_

According to the president, speaking to the fugitive aliens of Fort Rozz, especially the Kryptonians, will be prosecuted as a felony.

It feels so good, though, to speak Kryptonian again with someone who actually can _._

_"Perhaps. With modifications. I owe an oath to the humans. Two different humans, in fact."_

_"Did you?"_

_"Yes. A service oath to a mentor, and an oath of betrothal to the one whose house I was placed in."_

Astra sighs.

_"So you want to save them. Despite what they've done to this planet?"_

_"Yes. I want to protect them from themselves. As much as you do, or more. You know the Earth, and want to save the planet and its life. I know the humans and I want to save both Earth and her children."_

_"The oaths tie my hands, little one. I cannot cause a house member to break an oath. Still, I must demand something. Your aid in our cause?"_

_"For a change in the deployment parameters of Myriad, yes. Happily. My knowledge of the DEO wild be useful to you."_

_"Speak to Indigo. She will reconfigure it. Vann-Ohe, see to it that the Coluan knows I gave this order and she actually follows it."_

_"You should get rid of her, aunt Astra."_

_"Non is more useful with that Coluan in his bed."_

_"And is Non actually useful? That's new."_

Astra laughs.

_"You never thought much of our marriage."_

_"I never thought much of him, Astra. Because he never thought much of you. I think the world of you, Astra."_

_"For now, he is useful."_

If any of her soldiers didn't like the expiration date she just set on her husband's affair--and probably his lifespan--their faces do not show it. The one who must be Vann-Ohe is broad shouldered and square of face and build.

_"This way, Lady of El."_


	2. Squiggly Things, Champagne, and Uber Drivers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Lillian and Lena bond over Lex being a bit much, and omegas keep their beta sisters safe while out on the town.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Returning guest star Jessica Huang as Lena's assistant, bestie and emergency contact!  
> Guest appearance by consummate flirt Sara Lance!

“Thank you,” Lena tells the server, winding her fingers around two flutes of champagne and plucking them from the tray. He spins, like a comet caught in a star’s pull, somehow managing not to lose the tray despite her unscheduled act of self-service.

“Miss, the...”

She drains one in two gulps and arches a brow at him.

“..the champagne _my_ company is paying for?”

“Well,” he huffs. “That is of course _yours,_ Miss Luthor. Do you want another, or may I go put the rest of these out for after Mr. Luthor’s announcement?”

“I’m fine, thank you. Carry on.”

She smiles at him over the rim of the one in her left hand. “Go on. I’m not mad. Simply can’t handle my brother sober.”

He smiles back, shakes his head and vanishes into the crowd. Invisible and pliant. Lillian picked the company, that’s for sure. Her philosophy is that help should be two things: competent and invisible. A cloaking device couldn’t have provided a more seamless escape for him.

Lena’s soul mark is everything a waspy heiress could want. Black on her pale skin. Each line crisp and straight, as if it had been laser-etched. Placed in a delicate spiral up her left arm, beginning with a coil not unlike a bracelet around her wrist. It is also _not in any human language_ in the annals of recorded history. It’s not even any made-up language like Klingon or Elvish. That’d be easy. Nerd girls? Sign her up. Alas, no. This thing is the unholy offspring of binary barcodes and mathematical symbols.

Heels sound out on the hardwood behind her and Lena turns around. She has taken over a hundred hours of classes on moving in formalwear, but she will never move with the confidence Lillian does. Knot-headed stock market bros a third her age and three times her size scramble out of Lillian’s way. Her silver dress shimmers in the overhead lights and she cuts the crowd like sharpened steel as she crosses the dance floor.

“Mother.”

Lillian taps the Bluetooth earpiece she wears and hangs up. She looks at Lena’s hands and then at the champagne flute in her own.

“Howard?” Lena asks.

“Who else? Perhaps stock brokers are congenitally panicky. I see you’ve beat me to the self-immunization phase of the evening, daughter.”

“I find a blood alcohol level between 0.08 and 0.16 ideal for listening to Lex’s anti-alien ramblings.”

“I will admit his distaste for this Superman character seems far more personal than logical.”

The spare flute Lillian brought is abandoned on a nearby table, only to be snagged seconds later by a panicked looking beta who promptly dumps it in a plant. 

“Say you’re my friend,” she hisses at Lena. The beta breaks the flute against the edge of the plant and grips it tight.

Mercy Graves’ training and common sense omega-beta solidarity kicks in before she can so much as make eye contact with the poor creature.

“All rig-“

Alpha fills Lena’s nose. Male. Intense enough that Lena is glad she skipped the _hours d’oeuvre_ platters so she has nothing to throw up.

“Mister Edge!” Lillian calls out. “Thank you for coming.”

“What the hell are you doing?” the beta hisses. “I’m trying to hide.”

“Let her,” Lena sighs. “She likes to cut someone down to size before the dinner presentation. Makes for a more pleasant dinner back at the manor, I assure you.”

Morgan Edge blusters his way past the dancers and moves in, pheromones coming off him in thick, choking waves. Lillian answers his with a stiff challenge of her own -- omega or not -- and he stalls. He was clearly expecting his scent to work miracles, putting this poor floozy on her knees before anyone could complain. He lets out another and this time, Lillian ignores it in favor of unfurling the Wall Street Journal tucked under her arm and trying to engage him about the stock market.

It’s a dangerous game she’s playing. A scent like that can override an omega’s good sense, in the right conditions. Lillian has the advantage of being past middle age and having presented as a widow, giving her all but total control over her omega instincts. It’s also her party and without them realizing it several of the surrounding guests signaled their agitation with shifts in scent and coiled-up body language, implicitly confirming Lillian’s version of the story.

“Dance with me,” Lena suggests. She snags the beta’s hand and plucks the stem from it.

“I...”

“Dance? I don’t bite.”

“S-s-sure.”

The blonde is all limbs and Lena struggles to keep up with her leggy, agitated dance partner. Their combined scent flows in their wake as she tugs Lena to the far side of the dance floor where the bar is.

“Scotch, neat. Don’t care what brand. You?”

The bartender is a scruffy ginger alpha. He looks Lena and new friend over, tapping his wedding band thoughtful on the counter. His alpha mollified that these unattached females can protect each other without his help, he gets to work.

 _Smart,_ Lena thinks. _Mated alphas are the safest bartenders to hire._

“Anything for you miss?” he asks Lena.

“Bushmills on the rocks, yeah?”

She wrapped the last word around an Irish brogue strong enough to peel paint without realizing it. The bartender rolls his eyes and sets out another tumbler.

“You’re not from here,” the beta chortles. “Are you?”

“Metropolis, born and br-“ Lena catches her error. If she had lived in the states her whole life, there would be a story behind the accent and doesn’t have the energy to make one up. “Fine. I have been here since I was four.”

Lena reaches for her clutch but the beta beats her to it. She stuffs some fifties in the jar and leans back on the bar, watching the dance floor.

“First time?” Lena asks.

“Yeah, how’d you know?”

“Getting within scenting range of Morgan Edge is a rookie mistake.”

“I plead beta, your honor.”

Lena lets the whisky burn its way down her throat before replying.

“Yeah. I know. You do come off omega in that perfume, though.”

“I do?”

Lena nods.

“Oh yes. Fruity and light. It’s not far off the alpha-to-omega scent maskers my friend Sam wears. I can explain it, if you like.”

“Please, god, yes. My sister, she gets this stuff. Me? I’m hopeless.”

“Right,” Lena sighs, picking some targets for her explanation.

“Bartender, smells like...”

“Ginger,” the bartender fills in. “I hate that it’s so on the nose.”

“Doesn’t bother me,” coos a deeply inebriated Latina a few seats down. He sighs, scrubs his hands through his reddish curls, and picks up a business card for a taxi service.

“So your brain will associate an alpha’s scent with something sharp, like a spice, or smoke, or something pungent. Ginger. Woodsmoke. Peat moss. Coffee. That kind of thing. As a beta, other betas will just...well, they’ll just smell like themselves. Omegas, we usually are a bit fruiter. Bit higher sugar content.”

“Huh.”

“Unless you actually like the person. Then it’s a completely different situation. You develop a more significant association and they’re your favorite food, your happiest childhood memory, your craving, or they just smell safe. So I’m told anyway.”

“That is all terribly complicated.”

Lena sips the last of her whisky.

“It truly is. I’m told that people used to talk to each other, before this scent business came into vogue a few years back.”

“Communication in relationships?” the blonde laughs. “ Sounds unlikely. I’m Laurel. Laurel Lance.”

A blonde alpha shorter than Lena -- no easy feat -- leads a purring, dazed brunette to the bar. She’s practically melting out of her dress and smells of pre-heat and apricot jam. Three of the blonde’s fingers are shiny.

“Jesus, Sara.”

“What?”

“Have some class.”

The fun-sized alpha laughs and signals for the bartender to pour out some shots.

“Sara, Lena. Lena, Sara. Lena, this is my sister...unfortunately.”

“Well hello, there,” the blonde coos, locking onto Lena like a shark on the smell of blood. She’s not pushing her scent but if she didn’t already have one under arm, Lena knows full well she’d be trying to get her slick all over this stranger’s hand without the need for a nudge.

Tendrils of sugary perfume come off the brunette omega, sliding into Lena’s mouth. Muddled and sour-sweet, flickering between the two. Like she can’t decide whether she wants to scratch Lena’s eyes out to ensure her own access to the alpha or if she is concerned enough about keeping pace sexually that she wants to lure Lena in as backup.

“That’s my cue.”

Lena snags the alpha’s hand and presses a kiss to it before she can react.

“Ladies.”

Laurel’s guffaws follow Lena all the way across the dance floor. Mercy Graves is by the east door, probably just finishing a cigar break with one of the LuthorCorp Defense executives. Any port in a storm. Besides, she’s the _family’s_ heartless mercenary. Sharing is caring.

“Well handled, mouse.”

Lena shrugs.

“Lillian did most of the heavy lifting.”

“You placed yourself in a witness-heavy area where people had to keep an eye out, calmed her down, and I think that blonde would quite literally kill to get your attention right now.”

“I did?”

“You’re not seriously telling me that was off the cuff, are you mouse?”

“Entirely,” Lena admits. “Just followed my nose. Point A to B without really thinking. I flirted with the blonde as a joke.”

Mercy hums.

“I would’ve told you the same, if I were minding you. Your omega is cagey.”

“I like to think so.”

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the emcee calls out. “Please join us in the white room for a presentation by Mr. Alexander Luthor.”

“Duty calls,” Lena sighs.

Mercy chuckles.

“I’ll be here when you get back. Three fingers?”

“God, no. Five fingers. Single malt.”

“Only if you eat some food too, mouse.”

“Fine, _mom._ “

\-----

Lex created a glitzy PowerPoint to make his case for quasi-genocidal changes to privacy laws. Up on stage, he seems like a sane man. Expressive. Charming. Switching between standing and pacing the stage, mugging with front row audience members and gesturing eagerly with the wireless microphone. The sort of man who would invest in because he makes you believe he can change the world.

Tuning it out is all she can do. Lex’s personal holdings are woven into LuthorCorp’s financial skeleton. Unless he ends up in federal prison, he’s part of the company as much as Lena is. Even with Lillian having given Lena an at-cost trade of her stock for other companies in Lena’s portfolio, it’s a dead heat. Both of them holding a share in the mid-thirties, with the other shareholder’s alliances divided between them. Each sibling just shy of being able to complete a takeover and having wildly different goals. The company molders, caught in the middle of their tug of war and unable to take any real direction without offending one or the other.

He’s droning on about how the aliens, particularly Superman, pose a novel and unparalleled threat to the American way of life, the apple pie outlook, the national supply of puppies, and so on. If the next thing out of his mouth was something about how they’d take all the white women, Lena would feel relief that he was being upfront. 

Lena couldn't care less. The alien issue is something Lillian and Lex care about, Lex investing far more energy than their mother but equally stubborn about it.

She’s a simple girl. She’s not into the big questions. She’s into violence reduction, efficient supply chains for food, clothing and other necessities, improvements to medical care. She’s perfectly happy running LuthorCorp’s much-mocked new L-Corp branch, a collection of misfit researchers and consultants making wild claims about colonies on Mars and products that might pay off in thirty years if she hurries it up. 

Paranoia can be his passion. Helping people can be hers. Unless he actually gets traction on this nonsense, Lex is just a man shouting at the sky. Alone.

The next slide clicks over.

On it, Superman is carrying some injured girl out of a Central American sweatshop as it burns to the ground behind him. Praying, weeping family members surround him. Lex waxes about false gods and whatnot, but Lena has lost all ability to track him. 

Dead center of the photo, on the hero’s chest is a five-sided glyph. Brilliant gold against the blue of the suit’s fibers. The same symbol that is etched near the termination of her own soulmate mark, right in the tender space over the veins of her wrist. Carved into the skin over her pulse.

“What the fuck?” Lena mumbles.

\-----

Clark Kent is Superman.

Clark Kent is Superman, he’s dating Lois Lane and she’s protecting him.

It’s the only explanation. Lena wanted to talk to Lois Lane about the much-lauded blue brick in the sky about her soul mark, and she had some juicy insider trading scandals of Lex to trade for a chance to get in the room. The tabloids seem in consensus that Lois and Clark are the power couple of print media, so offering a cozy at home interview seemed like a way to get them both in earshot.

For the first time, Lois Lane turned down a chance to drag the rich and powerful through the mud. In fact, she all but vanished. Jess could not catch her at her desk at the Daily Planet and Jess has black magic at her disposal. Probably. Jess has worked out the workplace habits and lunch timings of everyone from senators to startup founders and has never once been bested by someone else’s PA trying to run interference.

Lois Lane managed to be ‘in a meeting’ systematically for three weeks despite three random calls per hour, each day of the week.

Two weeks ago, Jess and Lena nailed Donald Trump’s cheeto-colored balls to the wall no fewer than three times by catching a golf course’s noise in the background when he was contractually obligated to be doing work for LuthorCorp’s hospitality subsidiaries. After an expensive and stillborn attempt at running for president, the oddly-colored pervert was bleeding money and desperate for any work that paid up front in contractually obligated amounts. Far past the point of building or running his own hotels and too lazy to do it himself, he made the perfect patsy for Lillian. She finds him easily to manipulate and she needed someone to do the boring job of talking about hotels and hiring people to run them. She also didn’t care overmuch if Luthor Realty’s hotel holdings went the way of the dodo. Fading market in the post-carbon age anyway with supersonic maglev trains making it easier to commute to conferences and symposiums than to get a room unless it was literally an ocean away. Deutsche Bank probably carved up that turkey and fed him back to his Russian underwriters.

The week before that, Jess landed a direct call with a famously reclusive Taiwanese researcher Lena wanted for LCorp’s particle physics group. He wouldn’t have agreed if she hadn’t gotten him talking scientist-to-scientist and all she had to do was ask Jess and keep her cell phone charged for Jess to transfer the call.

Lois evaded every time. Jess was crushed. 

Lena reassured a baffled Jess that no one wins every game. She started going in person. Perry White had Lena escorted out of the building, twice. The third time, he only relented because she had in her hand papers that would make her the controlling owner of the Planetary Media Group if she sent them to her lawyer.

Time for the nuclear option.

Lena unfurls the folded up napkin from Jess and grabs her phone. Her target answers on the first ring.

“Martha Kent speaking.”

“My name is Lena Luthor. I was hoping you could put me in touch with your son.”

Something lands on her penthouse’s balcony with enough force to crack the tiles. Something _blue._

“Mrs. Kent, I’ll call you back. Someone’s at the door.”

\-----

Lena’s ears are ringing.

“What do you mean it’s not yours?”

Superman presses a control on the belt of his suit and peels back the left arm.

_**You’re not as dumb as you look, Smallville.** _

“Lois,” he tells her. “The first time I realized Lois was _hate_ flirting, not just hating, she said that. The first time they say I love you,” he sighs.

“I know the mechanics of soulmate marks, Mr. Kent. I wish to have some angry words with God about why they exist but I know how they work. Don’t get me wrong. You’re not exactly my type. But this is your symbol. Your calling card. And that’s why I called you. So who else? I mean, does anyone else speaks the lang-“

A sonic boom and a broken window signals his retreat.

“FUCKING HELL!” Lena bellows.

\-----

“Fuck soulmates.”

“Do tell,” the bartender offers. They’ve bonded. Lena and whats-his-face from the Metropolis Museum’s clubhouse bar.

“Soulmates...”

She sniffs.

“Soulmate marks are like the clap. Soon as you’ve got one, everyone looks at you funny.”

“Is that so?”

“Is so! You’re supposed to spend your life looking for this person. Waiting for them to say the thing written on your thing. Even if you don’t speak the squiggly marks on the thing.”

“Thing being your arm.”

“Yeah, that.”

“Squiggly marks...may I?”

She holds out her arm.

“S’alien. Aliens are dumb.”

“That’s Superman’s logo.”

“‘parrently, yeah. He’s big _and_ dumb.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Gimme two more shots of each of those,” Lena mumbles, pointing at the only bottle with a label she can still read.

It’s tequila. Probably.

“Ma’am, I’m going to have to cut you off.”

“Fuck you.”

“Can I call someone to pick you up?”

“I’ll fly home. On...on a bus!”

\-----

Everything hurts. Everything. There’s bright hurt and loud hurt and fuzzy hurt and in focus hurt.

“I think I might deserve a raise for this, Miss Luthor.”

“Jess?”

“Yes. Do you know where you are?”

“Penthoshe.”

“That’s right. Do you know why the balcony has a crater in it and the doors are blown out?”

“Schuperman.”

“Uh-huh. That explains the fact that the crater is foot-shaped. The bartender told me to give you this. Don’t worry, I took a photo of it in case you throw up on the original.”

\-----

Thanks to designer sunglasses, Gatorade, soggy toast and an ancestral affinity for alcohol, Lena manages to autopilot her way through the next workday without incident.

As they pack up their respective workspaces, Jess glances over at Lena and smiles.

“What?”

“You hit on the Uber driver on the way back. Multiple times.”

“I did not.”

“Oh, yes you did. I recorded it. You were very keen to know where else she had quote, extremely suckable freckles, end quote besides the back of her neck.”

“Jessica Huang, I will pay you millions of dollars to delete that recording before my brother or my lawyer finds it.”

“I already did. Here’s the note from the bartender guy, by the way. He may have a good point.”

Lena pulls the printout across the desk. It’s a blown-up cell phone photo. The napkin next to Lena’s wrist has arrows pointing to various symbols, including the one to the left of the Superman symbol.

_**What if this is the important one? Maybe a first name instead of a last name?** _


	3. Bound to Happen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where the universe will not abide a Lena that has not ogled a Kara.

Lena wishes this were Lex's fault, somehow. After all, his abuse and his corporate machinations have added up to probably nine tenths of the shit in her life so far.

Hard to blame her absent-to-abusive brother for finding herself in bed on the first day of her heat, checking the remote control on her webcams.

It's not as if a confirmed nude of Lena Luthor would destroy the internet and it's not as if's anonymous just because she has a party-store fox mask on. She's never actually lost major motor function during a heat -- just come close -- so as long as she doesn't melt into post-orgasmic jelly her face won't be visible.

It's a Grade AAA terrible idea. An omega friend from boarding school raved about this site as the next-best-thing to having an actual alpha in bed. She checks the row of vibrators, opening battery doors and testing the switches like a soldier checking her kit.

"Right. HOPE?"

"Yes, Miss Luthor?"

"Lock security system. Lights to 30%."

Lena drops her left hand to the keyboard and gets to work.

* * *

**www.heatwave.com**

alphas logged in (2932)

omegas logged in (16208)

top ranked alphas:

  1. VampireBat (in use)
  2. SheLikesGreekFood (offline)
  3. GonnaMakeBirdieScream (online, marked in-public)
  4. BabyBlues (online, in chat)
  5. TuxAndTails (offline)



* * *

Lena stares at the words 'in use' on the screen. That's not now the world works, or not how her world works. Omegas get used and the fact that their heats are broken is incidental to the alpha having somewhere to put his come.

_Is that just an artifact of my life?_

Her experience with ordinary people ended the day her birth mother died. Everything since then has been filtered by the Luthor's immense fortune. She's owning it at long last. But her life is still Luthor, then work, then Lena, then, if anything's left her personal life. Who knows if her status is even on the list?

Her computer chimes.

BabyBlues is sending her an invite.

* * *

**www.heatwave.com**

**MyBaggageIsDesigner + BabyBlues**

_hi_

_uh, hi?_

_nervous?_

_so fucking nervous. why did you even contact me? not like I'm ranked._

_you have a 'first time user tag'_

_and you're what, the ambassador of dick pics?_

_🤷♀️ I like to make people feel good. I'm whatever you want, hon..._

_this is about you jacking off..._

_no, that's what mass produced porn is about. this is about you needing something. something you're not happy asking for in person_

_are you spying on me?_

_NO!_

_hmm. unconvinced. that was exactly what I said trying to talk myself into this._

_what might convince you?_

_tell me something you think I might get mad about. something that doesn't make you look good_

_i'm with an omega right now. she's sleeping_

_so not thirty seconds after you choked her on your slime, you went looking for your next fix?_

[anon image received]

* * *

"The hell?" Lena mumbles.

The image she received was not from the irritatingly consistent alpha she was chatting with. The one who wasn't taking her bait. Even while anonymous, the status tags do show -- a legally required safety -- and it's an omega. It's the most gorgeous cock Lena's ever seen with a small female fist in the shot flipping her off. She pinches and zooms and even uses the rotate-in-place to indulge her curiosity.

It's an impressive specimen. The length is not outrageous. She's confident she could get it in but equally confident that it would fill her to the gates of her womb. It's the girth makes her shiver, makes her fingers twitch just thinking about working it in bit by bit. For a quickie, just the head. Splitting her lips and creating a sweet burn as her body submitted. There's also simply no way it's a man's. Her bad experiences suggest otherwise and her omega eagerly agrees that this one is different. The omega is telling her this one is worthy. The area around it is well groomed, the skin kept up. She can't help but wonder what the lotion smells like.

Female alphas with less-than-standard equipment on offer are considered an urban myth. Unspeakable in polite company and a touchy subject at even the most wine-loosened gathering of omegas clucking away about their sex lives. Between medical privacy laws and a religious backlash campaign that seems to want genital inspectors in schools going desk-to-desk to protect school bathrooms, it's not hard to imagine a small population hiding themselves away.

Lena's a scientist. Technically a doctor, but she knows better than to inflict her bedside manner on others. So she knows that more than one percent of infants have some alteration in their genetics beyond XX and XY chromosomes. Visibly intersex people are a smaller number but they're real. As is gender dysphoria, the trans community and all the rest.

So why not? Why can't whatever brought alphas, betas and omegas out of the closet of human evolution have broader effects?

She types a reply back to the sender.

The video she gets in reply makes her purr. Two hands this time, same black nail polish, one of them lifting the heavy sack out of the way and the other tracing a dusky, fleshy slit, following it upward to a shivering pink nub. A firm press and the balls at the edge of the shot twitch. This isn't CGI. Too messy. Too slick and shivering and raw. Someone making porn as art or as a hobby would do something _prettier_ rather than something so odd and so frank.

With this alpha, she can have her cock and nibble clit too.

Lena isn't sure she can move far enough to get to her favorite vibrator unless she takes the edge off. She puts the video on loop and gets to work. It's messy and quick and barely makes the ache of her heat change at all.

No sound, no smell, none of the bone deep triggers that put an omega on her knees like a sacrifice. Just images and thoughts and she's biting her own wrist, hips jerking against her pillow. 

"Fuck..."

* * *

**www.heatwave.com**

**MyBaggageIsDesigner + BabyBlues**

_you ok? I did not realize she took that last week. we had a chat_

_you're not mad?_

_with you, no_

_what about with her?_

_she's usually a bit of a brat. probably trying to make me mad so I'll be rough._

_will you?_

_nope. next time, she's made of cotton candy_

_you're evil._

_so evil_

_can I ask something?_

_sure_

_are you a woman?_

_..._

_..._

_..._

_yes_

_why did it take you so long to answer?_

_second guessed myself. had some fetish types before_

_sorry. it's incredibly hot, by the way. i'm lesbian but I like a good strap-on game...this feels like I'm cheating. sorry about the pervs_

_yeah. i'm about 75% vanilla_

_what's the other 25%?_

_that's a good question. public is a fantasy. group too, or at least being in the same room_

_watching?_

_taking turns_

_can I get a turn while the brat is not allowed?_

_sure, babe. let me go loosen the cuffs._

_put the sound on, please. I want her to hear what she's not getting._


	4. Your Ten-Fifteen, Miss Grant (1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where new CEO in school Lena Luthor has been making the rounds and there's just one CEO left to meet, but first she's go to get past her assistant and Kryptonian metabolism has...perks.

**Lena**

National City was the ideal relocation, it turned out. Besides LordTech--please!--and a small branch of TychoCorp, the field is clear for tech, computing, defense, aerospace, green energy, and bleeding edge prototyping. All of Lena's favorite things, tied up with string. CatCo is the corporate darling here, and it's video, print and web media. Obsidian North too, but that's growing slow and mostly a games studio, which isn't exactly Andrea's thing, so a while before Lena has to deal with that. Courtesy says she rubs shoulders. So Lena visited Max Lord, ever his charming, libertarian but not actually sociopathic self. Simon Tycho, but that felt more like visiting a hospice for old ideas and illegally stupid hiring policies.

Best for last. Cat Grant holds court atop the newly christened CatCo tower, soaring into the sky like a leaping panther of artificial black rock and constructed with an undisclosed and probably alien-assisted method perfectly suited for such a famous egotist as Catherine Grant. Lena has an appointment, which was no meager feat, Jess claimed. Cat's assistant went toe-to-toe with Jess and made it look easy, coming back from artfully arranged unavailability with a fruit basket, or takeout from Jess's favorite place. If the beta wasn't engaged to be married and dedicated and loyal and zealous enough to scare the Taliban, Jess might have detected the flirting.

Whoever this _Kara Danvers_ person is, she's a forced to be reckoned with. A goddess in a tiny sorority--the four men involved are gay, bi, and chill--who desk one glass door away from the corporate thrones of America. She's barely on Facebook. In fact, Lena was about to red-flag the account as a hollow and have her security team run it but then she realized Kara's just...spotty. Thirty cat pictures in two weeks--mostly the same cat--no posts for six months, a near-pathological fascination with taking pornographically intense photos of maple and brown sugar bacon followed by a flurry of recipe websites.

She has an Instagram too but Lena hasn't checked it yet, so she pulls out her phone.

The profile pic is blue eyes, blonde hair, and a smile so bright and amazing it looks like it needed a special effects department. The most recent is a beach pic back home with her family. Kara Danvers with her arm around her mother in a backless one-piece looks like Atlas holding up the world and Aphrodite at leisure with the sculpture bisected vertically. On the relaxed side, a woman's body, lithe and slack and sloped with dark blonde curls pulled free by the breeze and smooth legs tucked close and the sweat glinting in the sun as it tumbled away over the Pacific. On the side where her arm was up around her mother's shoulder, muscles hard as diamonds and just as faceted, looking like an anatomy textbook's drawing except _with skin on it_ in a mouth-watering golden shade. Big hands. Long, strong, more than enough to find that spot where most women's fingers can-

"Miss Luthor?"

Lena is spared from her sexual fantasy about the quality of a complete strangers fingerbang game by a beta desk worker.

"You can go in, now."

"Thank you," she huffs, fairly leaping from her seat in hopes that she kept the slick in her panties and worst case, her own skirt.

Ever since she found that omega-centric cam site, Lena's been hooked. She's had internet sex more in the last month than _actual_ sex since she first became aware of the general concept. Somehow this "BabyBlues" got Lena the inside track, because in the three times she wasn't available, Lena got other top-fivers and all of them _female_ alphas. 

SheLikesGreekFood tagged in and _Jesus Christ_ that was an experience. Skin like desert sandstone and a voice warm and patient as the waves lapping against the shores of Lesbos, peeling her own petals apart to show Lena how wet Lena's moans made _her_ and from the way she verbalizes things, that woman could probably write a multi-volume treatise on how queer women experience desire. 

VampireBat was another thing entirely. Ghostly pale, with dagger-thin fingers and glorious ginger curls around her slit--and the common sense _not_ to shave--a clit fat, hard and shiny as a ruby and a voice so low and rough and strong she sounded like a general giving orders. A sense of authority, even when she wasn't rumbling or growling or any of the alpha tricks. A woman to be obeyed. How happy Lena was to _obey_ that woman. Yes ma'am, right away, ma'am, being a good girl and _coming,_ ma'am...

But BabyBlues is the one burned inside her eyelids and crackling in her ears. Blue eyes, presumably, but beyond a guess about eye color and the epiphany of that cock existing, Lena knows next to nothing. Unless BabyBlues slides into line behind her at Starbucks and talks to her friend in that voice that hits like being wrapped up in molten steel--searing and supporting at once--she'd never recognize her.

Cat's office is at the end of this hallway, Lena assumes. She was told 'go in' and that must mean walking this gauntlet of tinted-opaque glass walls and doors without nameplates and this slightly-over chilled air.

_Last door on the left, right?_

Must be, because that one is open. As Lena draws close, she catches the scent and to her own shame, her mouth drops open and her breathing becomes a wild pant. More, more, more, her instincts are saying. Gulp every swirl of that _into her lungs_ and if it drowns her _so what_ because she's never found an _alpha so delicious_ in her life. She has a taste, when Lena's brain cannot process it as scent alone. Lemons softened by salty-sweet, almost like caramel.

Her omega, no doubt miffed by being denied Kara Danvers' Instagram, perks up like a dog called to heel. Fresh slick gathers between her legs and if it hadn't soaked straight through her panties before, it sure as hell has now.

Lena slows. Small steps. More time approaching means more of that _scent_ and that's the only important thing. She can reschedule with Cat, if it comes to it. But that? That she needs.

_Is it a female alpha? Is she mated? Even if she is, could I slip close and nuzzle into her neck?_

"M'proud of you," the alpha grunts. "Such a smart girl. Where do you want it?"

"Inside," comes the whine. "All of it."

"No," the alpha grunts. "No mark, no breeding."

 _"Please,"_ the omega whines, high and sharp. " _Just pick one._ "

Lena hears a rattling that sounds like a silverware drawer being opened.

"This?"

"Yes, yes, yes!"

"M'gonna pin you down. S'not safe."

There's a whine like a capacitor being brought to high voltage and Lena can smell burning flesh. Lena throws the door open.

The alpha is simply _glorious_ , tall and tanned and packed with muscle and _Good Lord, her hair_ and the omega under her is a sleek golden creature with expensive slacks pulled down to her knees, baring dancer's legs and a dusky, swollen cunt. Pinning her to the desk. Breathing hard. Sweat decorating her face and her abs, with so many little nooks and crannies Lena's fingernails need to experience. Lena's angle is terrible, much to her omega's displeasure but what she can see of the cock is _pure girth_ and if the _shaft is like that, good God how the head would ruin her_ and she doesn't even want to _imagine_ what those huge shivering balls could do to an omega's belly.

She's not rutting, instead pinning the wriggly, needy creature with her broad palms. One of them spans the left half of the ribcage and the other curls tight around a hipbone. Two lines of blue heat pour from the alpha's eyes, striking some sort of crystalline plate curled around the omega's body.

Explains the burning smell.

The stencil is removed and a long breath laced with something like snow soothes the bare skin.

"Good girl for me," the alpha grits out, picking up a rut that's nearly a blur as the omega grins and wriggles and scratches at forearms too sinewy for her fingers to wrap before grabbing the alpha's wrists instead.

The alpha leans low and curls a hand around the back of her prey's head, knocking cheek against cheek. Obedient a puppet, the omega tilts her head.

"How many you want?" she growls.

That's all it takes. The omega's hips slam upwards and slick gushes out, ruining her slacks entirely and dripping off the smooth glass of the desk, the alpha's length and her sack. The alpha replies with a punishing thrust down and a shout, her balls jumping up close and she's _coming_ and Lena wonders what sort of creature she is, with how hard she's shaking. The knot forms but she keeps it outside, probably saving the poor things life, seeing as how it's nearly as fat as her own fist. She pulls out even though she's still pumping and that makes Lena wonder because alphas in her experience simply don't. The omega's a glass to be filled to them, so why deliberately spill the milk? The omega's flat stomach now has a bulge where the cum has swollen her womb. She hums and rubs her belly and takes the alpha's ear in her teeth and gives it a tug.

"Good girl," she jokes.

Disentangling each other is a _process_ but it's also the most tooth-rotting thing Lena's ever seen. One hand lifts the omega to prevent waste and the other takes a hand and kisses each fingertip and then speckles kisses from palm to wrist to elbow. A black hand towel is grabbed from a drawer--horrifyingly, another spills out--placed under their joined bodies and as the still-jumping cock slides out. The towel catches the slick and the mess until finally the head slides out and the towel is pressed against the dripping folds and the omega takes over, pressing it to herself and clamping her legs shut.

Stupidly, the poor woman tries to stand and a broad hand shoots out and presses her back.

"Easy, Lucy."

The omega huffs.

"I have to work, Kara."

"Have your stuff brought up. Winn will do it."

A roll of the eyes, but Lucy relents.

"Lucky you're hot," she complains.

The tornado of pheromones around Lena slows. Still thick and commanding but not enough to fog up her higher faculties.

She slowly becomes aware of the rest of the room. This is an office, apparently, not a porn set. She'd wondered if she'd somehow opened a portal to another building, but no. Chic filing cabinets with custom tops shaped like panthers in Cat Grant's iconic bubblegum pink. Three glass and aluminum desks, two of them with a laptop and a printer on them and one with a fucked-stupid Lucy sprawled on top of it, surrounded by post it notes and notepads stained with unmentionable fluids. The adjoining room she had walked past is open but dim and another omega with a lilting, accented voice can be heard, singing a lullaby in what Lena thinks might be Gaelic.

A row of queen-sized beds lines one wall, two of them empty and one of them graced by a plush, curvy omega sleeping on her belly.

Kara is wearing designer jeans and a crimson button-up along with suede boots. She gathers her wild hair and fiddles a red leather cord--going for the carnivore vibe, Lena supposes--off her wrist to tie it back. She arranges herself and by some miracle, slips her soft cock back into her jeans, taking care not to snag her coppery-blonde curls on the zipper. She lost not an inch of length and barely any girth and _that_ gives Lena some ideas for waking up on lazy weekend mornings.

She turns to Lena, flashing that blinding smile and holding out her clean hand. Clean being relative because it was wiped on the edge of the towel Lucy's cunt is reflexively emptying itself into.

"I'm Kara. Welcome to CatCo. You're Lena, right?"

The voice...

It's her. It's BabyBlues.

Lena sprints over and fairly leaps but she's caught. Even as her skirt tears almost in half and one of her heels snaps, she never felt more beautiful because _she caught her_ and the hands cupping her ass are so _strong and sure_ she's never going to fall. She just knows it. She nuzzles in close and licks and huffs the pulse point and she's spinning now, drunk and needy and dripping so much she can feel drops rolling down her thighs.

"Well, hello," the alpha chortles, bumping her nose against Lena's.

"You're scheduled for eight-thirty but if you'd rather a ten-fifteen..."

"We met on the website," Lena whines. _"Please."_

"What webs-OHHHHH!"

She carries Lena to the nearest bed, tilting her back onto it and climbing over her. With her hands free to move, she plucks at the buttons on Lena's jacket. Finally, she gets it off.

"Tear the blouse," Lena pleads and she does.

Buttons scatter like confetti and scraps of white silk come loose in the alpha's hands. She brings them up to her nose and drinks Lena's scent from them, her blue eyes darkening with desire and mouth drawing into a toothy smirk. She looks down at Lena's chest as Lena rues her minimalist choice in bras but from the way Kara's hands stall in their exploration of her body and the way her lips part, maybe the _bra_ isn't the key thing because she's looking at Lena like breasts are a new discovery to her.

Then Kara completely loses the plot.

Even as Lena whines and tries to buck up, Kara just palms the side of her breast gently, spreading her thumb to rub tight circles around the nipple through the silk and the pace of it rises gradually, pulling Lena's heartrate up with it. It's like meditation, how Kara's caress commands her body's tempo and _that's a discovery_ Lena needs to invest some time in.

_"Please. Knot. Me."  
_

Snapped from her worship at the altar of breasts, Kara shakes her head, throwing off the fog.

"Let me," Lena pleads, her hands flying to the zipper and fumbling the throbbing, searing length out. She swirls her fingertips around the head, spreading the pearl of precum and making Kara hiss.

"M'gonna spill," she warns.

"On my belly, okay? That way you'll last longer."

Kara whimpers and whines as she decorates Lena's body from breastbone to the waistband of her skirt in thick ropes. It's hot on her belly, warmer than just body temperature. Almost hot as a hot bath. It _lasts_ in a way Lena can't quite understand. Each time she thinks it's over, a fresh gasp and a fresh splash. Then she sees how Kara's eyes open as it ebbs and shut tight as Lena's hands pump.

_She's recovering fast enough that it just seems continual._

Even this goddess probably can't come forever without becoming oversensitive and Lena has needs that involve the pair of them enjoying her cock, so she relents. Everything about the moment is perfect. Kara's stricken, transported face, how her arms shake and struggle to keep her up. The mess on her skin, the salty smell that mixes with Kara's scent. The taste, as Lena puts a droplet on her tongue. Not bitter in the slightest, but _so salty_ and with a sharp tang that Lena can't name.

Reminding her with an upward thrust of her hips, Lena takes the mostly hard cock in one hand and slaps it with the other, bringing a growl up from Kara's bones. The carcass of her skirt is pulled open and her legs are hefted over Kara's shoulders and she licks into Lena's cunt without preamble or hesitation.

"Teach you to tease," she huffs, gathering slick with a curl of her tongue.

"Mmm," Lena purrs. "Please do."

She tangles her fingers in golden hair and gives a goading tug before she melts back onto the sheets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, then.


	5. Joining the Group Chat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The invites are hard to come by but the perks are _intense_. Selected postings from the social media of Kara and her girls.

LucyInTheSky **2.4 million** likes  
She's in your dreams, she's burned into my skin. We're not the same. #TakingTheEarthWomen #SupersTrampGetsSupersStamp #WinningAtLife (Purple Heart ) View all 153,548 comments May 5, 2018

ShamrockingTheGayness **3** likes  
Home from St. Mary's. Mom called my sister's girlfriends over to be a hater. Ended up with this. BOTH her daughters are gay now. Can you be my moms?  
#Neck #Eyebrows  
#WomenInSuits  
View all 41 comments May 19, 2018

StrongerTogether **257,102** likes  
Alien-haters take note, _this_ is how you kill a Kryptonian. Went to meet my girl for lunch...  
#Jaw #WomenInSuits  
View all 8.2 million comments May 6, 2018

**Author's Note:**

> ##  [Want to see the posh stuff? Want to see future chapters early?](https://rb.gy/b1fjhr)
> 
> ### Like it? Hate it? Have questions? Come holler at me about fanfic!
> 
>   
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>  **Discord**  
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>  **Kryptowiki  
> ** (codex for my DC-universe fics with expanded info, broken into sections per story)  
> <https://kryptowiki.stufftoread.com>  
> 


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